


and in the dark i have no name

by writtenndust



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-04
Updated: 2012-12-04
Packaged: 2017-11-20 07:07:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/582645
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/writtenndust/pseuds/writtenndust
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Huntsman is taken to Regina's bedchamber as ordered; but what she wants from him is not what he thinks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	and in the dark i have no name

He stood with his back to the broad, ornate doors. The muscles across his back flexed as he clenched and unclenched his fists at his sides; the chill in the air sending goose-bumps across his bared skin. Stripped down to nothing but his tight leather breeches; he stood with the shadows of the night down one side of his body and the glow of the fire illuminating the other. Each curve and dip of each and every muscle was defined by pitch-darkness and burning light – harsh lines reflecting the tension in his entire being.

His toes curled and uncurled against the hard, stone floor; just inches away from the warmth of the plush rug – though he refused to afford himself such a comfort in his stoic defiance.

He listened intently to the silence beyond the doors. The guards had tossed him through and warned him of what would happen if he tried to escape; not that he had much incentive to run whilst she held his heart in her hand. Instead he’d stripped himself of his weathered leather jacket, unlacing the ties with a silent acceptance and tossed his boots to the ground beside the grand fireplace – ready for what was to come.

He didn’t have to wait long before he could hear her coming – the tell-tale sound of her sharp heels clacked against ancient stone before her palms hitting the doors made the room shudder with the sound and a gust of cool air hit his shoulders; he sucked in a breath. 

He kept his head low as she circled him, watching her hands twitch as she did so and entirely unwilling to look up and meet her eyes. He refused to give her the satisfaction. She moved with a measured grace and with his eyes moving from her feet to her ankles to the embroidery that adorned her wrists, he found himself almost hypnotized by her movements. He could feel her breath on his skin as she stepped up to his back and he could feel the harsh scratch of the ostentatious beading on her gown as her chest pressed against his spine.

She touched an almost tender kiss to the nape of his neck and his eyes shot up; yet she still remained silent. He stared straight ahead, his brow furrowed in confusion as her warmth disappeared from behind him and for a long, agonizing moment, the heady feeling of her absence engulfed him. It wasn’t until she returned to his line of sight, that he realized she hadn’t left the room.

“Are you not cold?” She questioned and purely by accident, his resolve slipped and the tone of her voice caused him to look into her eyes. And what he saw frightened him. The cold malice that he’d seen in every instance he’d been in her presence was replaced with a distant concern; almost like she honestly had no idea why a half-naked man was standing in the centre of her bedchamber.

In his surprise, he found himself unable to answer even though he could feel the night air creeping across his skin and the glow of the fire too far away to reach him.

She didn’t seem bothered that he didn’t answer, and that in itself worried him.

She paced the room slowly; her rage from earlier had seemed to disappear from her demeanor even if her shoulders were still tense and she paced as though she were battling with something internally. He wasn’t sure what to believe. His freedom had been taken from him; his very soul ripped from his chest by the woman before him and yet, he found himself wondering what it was Snow White had stolen from her. He wondered, as he watched her, what it was that warranted such devotion to revenge on the kind woman he’d spared in the woods.

He knew nothing of the royal family – having been raised by the wolves, he knew little more than what he needed to survive in the world of men. He knew how to speak, how to fight; he knew how to eat with a fork. But he didn’t know the face of Snow White’s father and could only discern for himself that the Queen’s marriage was most likely not one of love. She was closer in age to her Stepdaughter than she had to have been to her deceased husband – so young was she that her beauty had not even yet begun to fade.

She turned to face him with her dark eyes devoid of any emotion and with a click of her fingers a cloud of purple smoke surrounded her, drifting up and blowing a gust of breeze across his chest before the air in the room settled and she stood before him in a long, almost transparent, chiffon nightgown.

Though he could see her flesh through the thin fabric, the colour of it was a rich ebony. It dipped low across her chest and the long, fitted sleeves reached all the way to her wrists. It billowed as she stepped closer to him and the light from the fire behind her cast a silhouette of her deceptively slight frame through the gown, causing him to lick his lips against his will.

Her hair fell down her back in dark, tumbling waves, free from the confines of her elaborate up-do. She seemed almost younger, standing before him with her feet as bare as his own. Her face seemed fresh and un-touched, her stature smaller than he’d expected but no less imposing. He remembered the image of her fingers wrapped tightly around his heart and the bitter words she spat from her lips and on instinct, he reached for the tie of his pants.

The small hand that stilled his surprised him.

“No,” She breathed, releasing his hand after a moment and he found himself just staring at her.

“Then what do you want from me?”

“I want to remember.” Her voice was soft as she uttered it, stepping around behind him in order to make her way around the large bed.

“Remember what?”

She climbed into the bed slowly, pulling the heavy blankets back and laying her head down on the pillow. She looked up at him, still rooted to his spot on the cold, stone floor by the foot of her bed and he wondered for a moment, why she hadn’t yet used her magic to force him. Hesitantly, he moved around the bed, watching her as her dark, empty eyes kept their hold on him. But there was something else there, something he’d seen only a glimpse of when he’d read her step-daughter’s letter aloud. There was a pain there – one that justified all of this anger and brutality, at least in her eyes.

He slipped into the bed beside her, unsure what it was that drove him to do so and his body tensed as she backed up against him, pressing her back against his chest. Her backside pressed against his groin and he bit down on his lip for a moment as she shuffled to find comfort against him, pulling his arms around her as she settled down in the plush pillows.

“I want to remember what it feels like, to lie in _his_ arms.”

He didn’t know how to respond or even if he should. Somehow he knew she didn’t mean her husband and with just as much certainty, he knew she’d never tell him whose place he was being ordered to fill. He wasn’t privy to a name so cherished and for the briefest of moments, he pitied her. He hated her and wished for his heart back so that he could be free; but he pitied the woman in his arms, who whimpered against him as she snuggled in closer, losing her ferocity as she drifted into a fitful sleep.


End file.
